


but i ascend and serve my feverish need

by weatheredlaw



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:51:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you can't control the ocean, tony.</p><p>you can't swallow a star, bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but i ascend and serve my feverish need

**Author's Note:**

> so someone who is now a good friend drew [this art](http://nogutsnoglory.tumblr.com/post/23244369375/ive-been-on-this-ship-since-the-midnight-showing) and was like FIC ME so i tried and yeah

"Tell me you can control it," Tony says, lips ghosting over the shell of Bruce's ear. "Tell me you can." Bruce tightens his lips and keeps working, keeps his hands busy until Tony gives up for the third time today and goes back to his corner. He'll come back, and Bruce will hold his breath until he dos, because they do this every day. They push at each other until all they can do is fall. Sometimes the fall is the thrill of it. Sometimes it's all Bruce can do to catch himself. Sometimes.

And it isn't like he doesn't want Tony. Or that he doesn't think about him or what it might mean and how it might work. And it isn't like he _can't_ control it, because he can, he has more of a hold over the Other Guy than people might think.

But when it slips.

Changing is like...like trying to hold onto the edge of the sea. He never quite _shifts_ from himself to the Hulk, that isn't really the way it works. Bruce remembers the airship, and the explosion, and the sound of his pulse drumming in his ears, his heart in his throat. And he'd wanted Natasha's words to change something, to fix it -- but it was out of his hands and he was smothering himself and drowning and dying all at once.

And in the street, he turned and willed the change and felt the ripple of muscles expanding and shifting and the pain of everything stretching and the thrill, almost, of being able to say _Now I am you. Now you are me. Now it's our turn._

But, _God_ , when it _slips._

Tony crawls back into his own hole. Bruce closes his eyes. Breathes.

Imagines the ocean.

 

 

JARVIS wakes him up early every morning, but Bruce is always a few minutes ahead, the automatic fear of being found ingrained into his body, forcing his muscles to usher him out of bed, onto the floor. There are exercises. There's meditation. There's the cold shower -- anything to keep him alert and aware. Aware of every sensation, every single time his body moves or is touched, touches or is felt. 

And then there's Tony, awake if he's slept at all, talking to JARVIS, ushering his bots around. Bruce went to a talk on people and the Earth, once, likened himself to a mountain while he was there. 

(and god how wrong was he, to compare himself to something like that, something that can't be moved, can't be torn down as easy as himself -- the whistle of the ocean, racing past his ear, and a memory of a girl on the beach and a day passed in the sun and freckles across pale shoulders)

Tony is a star, collapsing in on itself and taking everything with it. Tony is a black hole, Tony is dark matter, Tony is the echoes of space, the edge of the universe, the moment in time when everything expanded, the greatest birth in history and Tony is the center of it, falling in on himself and vanishing into a nebula, a gas cloud, a shadow in space. 

"I changed the locks," he mutters, not looking up. Bruce knows. He figured it would happen. "What's the matter with you?"

Bruce leans in very close, puts his hand over Tony's chest, diffusing the glow of the reactor. He whispers, "Tell me you can control it." Tony's hands freeze over his work. His hologram collapses. Bruce feels a tremor. "Go on. _Tell me._ " 

Tony's entire body flinches and he grabs Bruce by the wrist and spins him around, shoving him against the wall. 

(the ocean laps at his ankles, cold and taunting) 

Bruce threads his fingers through Tony's hair, dragging him in and kissing him, hard, biting at his lips. He probably wanted this the whole time, goading Tony into whatever he was planning for himself. Bruce stares into the star, falling away over itself, and holds tight. He grips handfuls of Tony's shirt and holds him close, not afraid of what happens when he falls into the void, too. 

(a star when it's dying is so beautiful and so hard to find because it happened before you were born, you see, and when you see it happening, finally, what you're seeing is a memory of death. and that might be the saddest thing of all.)

"I can," Bruce whispers. "I can control it." Tony's body jerks inward. Bruce lets him go and moves his fingers down to undo Tony's jeans. He tugs down the zipper and slips his hand inside. "You think I can't." He wraps his hand around Tony's dick. "But I can."

Bruce drops to his knees, taking the denim with him. And Tony -- Tony only looks at him once, before running a rough hand through Bruce's hair, the quietest, _God, yes_ , falling off his lips before Bruce leans forward and takes his cock into his mouth. 

(and you can't swallow a star, a star swallows you. the abyss fills your veins. bruce is clinging to the edge of the ocean with one hand, the edge of the universe with another, and he can't hold onto them both forever.)

Tony comes with a shout and Bruce swallows him down, licking his lips and taking a deep breath. Tony uselessly tries to pull up his jeans, but ends up on his knees next to Bruce, forehead resting on his shoulder. He scratches the hem of Bruce's shirt with his fingernail, traces it all the way around, counting the threads. Bruce can't remember where he got it.

Tony's fingers trail down his chest, pausing over Bruce's heart, testing his pulse. "You're so calm," he murmurs. His fingers travel to other pulse points, calculating, measuring, cataloguing. "You were very good at that," he adds, finally getting to his feet and fixing his clothes. "Maybe too good. I think you cheated. JARVIS, pull up what we had here, let the good doctor see it." Bruce stares as Tony shifts from one gear to the next, _effortlessly_ and he doesn't really know why he's surprised. 

 

 

Tony doesn't bring up the incident in the lab, and he only calls it that once. Bruce trails after him, sometimes, and they do whatever they feel like doing, until Tony is so close and Bruce can smell his skin, his soap, his clothes -- and then he bites at his mouth, sweeps his tongue over bruises on Tony's shoulders left there from the day before, and then he goes down. 

Sometimes, he hears the ocean. Sometimes he can hear a star. 

"Right...right _there_ \--" Tony comes, hips stuttering as he grasps the table. A pen rolls to the ground. "Jesus _fuck_ ," he mutters. "Let me do you." He pulls up his jeans, drops down and puts his hands at Bruce's waist.

"I'm okay."

"I'm not trying to get you to snort crack, Jesus, don't talk like this is a problem." Tony dips his head and kisses Bruce's neck. "You said you could control this."

"That isn't what it's about."

"Then what is it?" Tony draws back. Bruce can't really see him, see his eyes.

(his pupils are blown and bruce thinks the star might already be dead.)

 _Did you get lost, somewhere?_

"What?" Bruce stares, and he doesn't know who's said what anymore.

"Fuck it. You're impossible."

(an impossible ocean, but not quite as vengeful)

 

 

Because it's not about control. Not really. 

(but it is, it really is and bruce is a terrible liar an awful painfully bad liar with nothing to hide, in the end, and that's because tony fucking _reads him_ )

"Stop lying," Tony murmurs.

"I won't hurt you."

"I know you won't."

"Tony, I can't--"

And then Tony puts a hand over Bruce's, curling his fingers around and there is so _much_ in those fingers. Those _hands_ \-- Bruce feels something bottomless swelling up in his chest --

(something like the ocean. something like a star.)

"You can, though." 

And fuck, this isn't even about sex anymore. It's so big Bruce is wondering where the other black hole is, or if Tony is it. If this is his way out, finally. They must be a way to vanish, to collapse inward, onto himself. There much be a way to dissolve from this world and into the void, into blankness. 

Maybe if there isn't...maybe the only thing _left_ is to surrender to whatever this is. To take back some semblance of control. 

"I don't want anything you don't want. For us. For, you know, this. I'm not here to make you do something you don't want to do. I'm only here because I _want_ to be here. Because I thought that _you_ wanted me here." Tony lets go of his hand, fingers fidgeting around his waist because he can't keep still for five fucking seconds. "So you should just tell me, you know. If you don't want me here. Like this. Like...like in _here_ , in your space."

Bruce promptly and properly invades Tony's space and kisses him, because he figures they might as well start doing this like adults some time in their lives. And it's been a good six hundred years since Bruce has had real, grown-up, big people feelings, the kind that stir the dirt and make you nervous when you're trying to go to bed at night, and you're thinking of all the things you said wrong, and what you should have done better.

And Tony's good at kissing back because why the hell shouldn't he be? 

(and it sounds more like waves crashing on a shore, and bruce thinks maybe he got the metaphors all wrong)

 

 

He thinks he should be ready for this. 

(no one is every _ready_ for the sea because the sea will swallow you and spit you out and leave nothing behind)

"Just relax. Deep breaths. Meditation." Tony leans back against his pillows, unashamed of how exposed they are -- the windows are open, it's late afternoon, and Bruce knows JARVIS is listening to everything that is happening in this house. His mouth is watering. "What do you want from me?"

Bruce just stares for a second. He wants to look. He wants to admire, because why not? Why not just watch Tony, watching him? 

But he wants to touch and so he reaches out and traces the circle of the arc reactor, traces scars and curve of Tony's chest. He leans forward and takes Tony's cock into his mouth, earning a satisfied grunt from above. And he shouldn't think about what he's doing, really. Because it only draws his attention to why he _shouldn't be here_. He glances up and Tony is staring at him, mouth crooked and eyes glazed. 

And then Bruce just stops and Tony swears so loudly it brings his attention up, head snapping and there is spit pooling in his mouth. He swallows. He can't really focus. His pulse rate is normal.

But he can feel it.

" _Bruce_ , where'd you go?" Tony's hand is on his face. Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose and can see the green tinge on the edge of his vision. "Not now. Bruce, come on, not now. Not like this. It doesn't have to happen, _you can control it._ " 

(you can't control the ocean, tony.)

(a star and a girl and tony, his voice far away and bruce, trying to wrap his head around himself, trying to stay who he is, rooted to where he is, solid and real and in this moment)

(you can't swallow a star, bruce.)

"Come back." Tony's face blurs, sharpens, tilts -- his voice hits home, though. "You're okay. It's gonna be fine. Come back."

Bruce blinks. He remembers where he is. 

"I didn't--"

"You got a little green around the gills," Tony says and he might as well be describing the weather. "But you're okay, now." He brushes the hair from Bruce's forehead. "You're okay." Bruce tries to smile. "I also think that almost Hulking out is sort of like a _get out of giving a blow job free_ card. Thing. Whatever. Point is--"

Bruce wraps his mouth around Tony's dick and enjoys the sweet sounds of getting a Stark to beg for him. 

 

 

(the first ocean sat in the belly of the snake and bruce crawled out of it, warm and wet and howling.)

Bruce is woken up by the sound of a bird hitting the window, and it must be bad luck, somewhere. He's fucked out and there's a warm hum in his belly -- he's swallowed a hive.

Tony rolls over, still asleep. A rarity, these days. A sleeping star. A quiet, patient nebula. 

He thinks he might go to the ocean tomorrow. Take Tony with him. Make him swim. He probably owns a beach, somewhere. They could fly to Bruce's favorite, bury each other in sand. Maybe stay there. Wait for the call. 

But he thinks Tony will probably spend the day in bed and, if he has his way, then Bruce will, too. 

And it might not be so bad.

The ocean will still be there, tomorrow. And still, months later. Years will go by and the ocean will still be there.

Stars are so fleeting, compared to the sea. 

So Bruce spends the day in bed. Because Tony gets his way. 

Because the ocean will endure. 

Because stars will burn out.


End file.
